[Getting It Right is a monthly series in which I take a look at the elements that make up a classic game. What were the key ingredients that set it apart and make it hold up to this day? Read on to find out.]
Some of th...

[Getting It Right is a monthly series in which I take a look at the elements that make up a classic game. What were the key ingredients that set it apart and make it hold up to this day? Read on to find out.]

For a medium where a story can take you anywhere, videogames too often take a familiar route to the same place.

Where are we going this time? A nondescript desert in the Middle East? A futuristic metropolis that is either 20 percent or 80 percent Blade Runner-inspired? Why is this when plenty of films take viewers to outlandish, fantastical settings that bring to mind nightmares and dreams -- not cliches of modern fiction? Where can we find such inspired worlds in games?

There are a few that look inward instead of outward in creating a setting. The list is short: Grim Fandango, Psychonauts, Harvester and -- oh, yeah -- Sanitarium. I may celebrate every one of them for this series in due time, but for now we are taking a look at this little-known eerie PC adventure.

Something happened between 2002 and 2003. Gamers and critics suddenly stopped praising Resident Evil as one of gaming's best series and started calling it dated, clunky, and boring. Take Resident Evil Code: Veronica. Upon its release, GameSpot called it the best of its genre, but by the time the GameCube port came around in December 2003, the site labeled it "obsolete." You don't need to go further than the port's Metacritic page to see that GameSpot wasn't alone.

The crux of the criticism came down to convenience. Tank controls, slow combat, and limited saves were no longer common practice. But great games have never been about convenience -- they are about challenges to survive by learning your environment and abilities. Resident Evil does this very well, and no series entry did it better than the 2002 GameCube remake of the PlayStation debut.

Once and for all, let's lay to rest this misguided talk of Resident Evil's being obsolete. Not only is the series still relevant, it's timeless. The problem isn't with the game but with the critics who have gone soft and lost good judgment. And if I sound bitter, it's because of those critics that Capcom won't make another title in the style of this classic survival horror adventure.

[Getting It Right is a monthly series in which I take a look at the elements that make up a classic game. What were the key ingredients that set it apart and make it hold up to this day? Read on to find out.]

Did the 2D platformer achieve all it was capable of in the 16-bit era or did developers just run out of ideas?

Of course, we have the answer to that question now. The answer is Klonoa. It was a near-perfect platformer that merged polygonal environments within the perspective of a 2D sidescroller (“2.5D,” some endearingly called it). More importantly, it delivered on the growing demand for nuanced storytelling and variety that the PlayStation crowd demanded. In more ways than one, it made players look at the genre in a new light.

The original Klonoa is my favorite 2D platformer and each replay only makes this sentiment grow stronger. However, I’m tired of replaying it so why not turn my attention to its PlayStation 2 sequel? Another critically lauded but forgotten 2D platformer in the age of 3D shooters, Klonoa 2 gave fans of the original more of what they wanted. At the same time, it made the most of the improved hardware with some of the best art direction and design to ever grace the genre that Nintendo finds so difficult to innovate within these days.

[Getting It Right is a monthly series in which I take a look at the elements that make up a classic game. What were the key ingredients that set it apart and make it hold up to this day? Read on to find out.]

Enlisting as a soldier is easy. Surviving is the hard part. Virtual soldiers have it pretty good, these days. Between infinite pistol clips and regenerating health, the modern virtual soldier doesn’t have much down time between firing off rounds. But, in 2003, things were a bit different.

Rainbow Six was a game mostly built around avoiding conflict rather than running headfirst into it. It was as much of a rarity in its genre then as it is now. You only had so many clips and a couple bullets could put you six feet under, but at least these virtual soldiers had time on their side. If the perfect plan wasn’t made the first time, it would all come together 20 or so tries later.

Though the Rainbow Six brand is alive and well with a new entry on its way, the series hasn’t been the same since Rainbow Six 3. Even then, the console version of the game bastardized much of what made the series so great. With that said, we are looking exclusively at the PC version of Rainbow Six 3 which offered a unique blend of first-person shooting and strategy never to be seen again in the series.

[Getting It Right is a monthly series in which I take a look at the elements that make up a classic game. What were the key ingredients that set it apart and make it hold up to this day? Read on to find out.]

It’s not enough to just kill bad guys and save the day. You need to look good doing it, too.

Whether it’s the akimbo guns of John Woo or the slow-mo of The Matrix, action films of the ‘90s found a way to take what should be a three-second partnership between bullet and target and make it into an elaborate 5+ minute ballet of bullets, mayhem, and badassery.

In the early ‘00s there was no game that embraced this sensibility more than Max Payne. From the tongue-in-cheek film noir story to reloading an uzi, developer Remedy gave every aspect of the game style and visual flair. Once you look past the permanently constipated face of Payne and come to terms with literally leaping into combat, you’ll find Max Payne remains an example of third-person shooting done right.

Putting the things you loved when you were younger on a pedestal is as unavoidable a side effect of growing old as nose hair and weak joints. Will I ever taste breakfast cereal sweeter than the 2003 run of Ang Lee's Hulk marshmallow cereal? Will I ever own a pug as lovable and derpy as Ralph, my 9th grade buddy? Will there ever be another adventure game as good as Grim Fandango?

This line of thinking is unhealthy, I'm afraid. To believe the best days of our beloved hobby are behind us is a level of cynicism I can't accept. All good things come from good ideas, and good ideas can always be applied to create even better things. Instead of celebrating the best of the best, I'd like to use this space to analyze what made them work so well. If developers and publishers take note of past games' successes, we could build something great and new out of the bones of classics.

As this series progresses, I hope we discover common threads among great games that can help guide our judgment in play, criticism, and creation. And what better place to start than with one of the '90s last great adventure games!